Part 2

He prepared his offering, and dared to take of the food presented to the goddess. The banana he ate must have received from the hands of the goddess the gift of death, for when the temple slaves came next morning to the _heiau_, there, before the shrine of wickerwork, lay the lover of the goddess--dead, and, by the look of his eyes, he had died neither unwillingly nor afraid.

* * * * *

It was this image of Kalaipahoa that Kamehameha long begged in vain from Kahekili. It came to him after the death of the savage old Maui chief and he kept it always near him. It was a useful idol to him, for a single chip placed in the food of an obnoxious person would send him to the shades in less than twenty-four hours. Kamehameha, by his will, had the image divided among some of his chiefs, but the good Queen Kaahumanu collected all the chips she could lay her hands on, and burned them.

It is said, however, one or two fragments are still in existence. Perhaps the visitor to Honolulu may find them in the Kamehameha museum, but let us hope their virulent properties may never be put to the test.

II

THE STORY OF THE KIHA-PU

“Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast.”

--“_The Lady of the Lake._”

The minstrels of the olden world were wont to sing of the marvels of Olifant, the magic horn of Roland, which that glorious paladin had won in battle from the giant Jatmund. All nature trembled at its blast, the fowls of the air fell dead, the trees shivered and the hearts of the Saracens failed them for fear, even though the sound came from thirty miles away.

The counterpart of this famous horn is, we believe, still to be seen among the relics of the old savage world of Hawaii preserved in the museum at Honolulu. Let the visitor not fail to ask for a sight of the Kiha-pu, the famous war trumpet or magic conch of Kiha. It is a huge nautilus-shell of a species exceedingly rare in the island group, adorned (one can scarcely say beautified) with the inlaid teeth of conquered chieftains whose death-cry was once drowned by that strident blast. Whenever the trumpet is blown, such at least is the popular belief, the groans and cries of these old warriors are heard on the wind. Far back in the generations of old, in the twelfth century of our era, this wonder-working shell was brought from the distant isles of Samoa, but its historical career in Hawaii does not commence till the reign of the mighty warrior Kiha, who ruled the land for forty years midway in the fifteenth century.

Since then in what innumerable battles has it played its part! Kamehameha prized it as he prized Kalaipahoa, the poison goddess; Kaili, the war god, or even as he prized the fire-vomiting guns of the white men. The unique qualities of the Kiha-pu caused its possession to be eagerly coveted by the rival chiefs. When blown with skill, it had power over the gods and over the legions of genii. Were the canoes at sea and the rowers lacking food, one blast of the Kiha-pu would summon Ukanipu, the shark god, to drive the flying fish so that they might fall into the open boats. Were it necessary to replenish the water calabashes, then the trumpet could call upon Kuluiau, the goddess of rain, and the oarsmen would have scarce time to arrange the vessels ere the rain came down from the clouds in torrents. Was it wind that was wanted, lo! in answer to the prayer of the Kiha-pu, Laamaomao, the god of wind, would open his swelling calabashes towards the sea, and the breezes would rush forth. Thus useful in peace, it was a hundredfold useful in war. The king could send forth at will strident voices such as startled the ears of the enemy with challenge to battle and premonition of defeat. He could make the magic conch utter clarion notes such as would summon the forces of the spirit world to his aid and rally his people from the most hopeless fight. The sound was like the sound of breakers against the rocky shores of Hawaii.

To-day, alas! though the horn may still be blown, no deity responds to its despairing wail. When, during the native insurrection of 1889, the shell conches sounded out shrilly upon the air, many of those present thought of the Kiha-pu and its traditional magic. But Lono came not from his age-long sleep, and all things conspired to show that the potency of the trumpet of Kiha was no more.

Here is a tale founded on the old meles, of the times when the famous conch was in the hands of the king who gave it its name.

* * * * *

Kiha was desirous of a new feather cloak to mark his dignity among the _alii_. He would summon to his presence the feather hunters to go forth into the forest to snare the _mame_ and the _oo_, that from their brilliant feathers of scarlet and yellow he might weave his royal mantle. To bring them to the royal enclosure he bethought himself of the Kiha-pu and dispatched its trusted guardian, whose name was Hoilo, to bring it forthwith from the _heiau_ or temple. In a little while Hoilo came back with rueful countenance and announced that the treasure had disappeared. In its place was an ugly, carved black stone.

The king, as may be imagined, was terribly wroth, but waxing wise with cunning he concealed from everybody his loss, even announcing to Hoilo that the shell was in a place known to himself. But, as soon as he dared, he hastened to the _heiau_ and there made a confidant of the high-priest, with whom he consulted as to the fate of the Kiha-pu. After the due sacrifices, there came a response from the oracle. A voice from the wicker shrine announced that the conch had been stolen by a band of marauders, half human and half demon, who had for some time been prowling about the neighborhood. The king was in despair, but presently a gleam of hope was vouchsafed by the tidings that the lost treasure should be recovered by the king on the day when Kiha ate of the first fruit of the cocoanut tree to be planted by himself at the next fullness of the moon. In answer to the question as to who should be the instrument of the restoration, only the mysterious reply was given that it would be a being without hands and wearing neither a _malo_ nor mantle.

It was with a very heavy heart that Kiha returned to his palace, knowing that his trumpet was in the hands of the demi-demon band, but nevertheless he dissembled his grief, kept his secret manfully, planted his cocoanut and watered the soil daily with his own hand.

In the meanwhile the demons departed with their spoil northwards to Kauai, where after many adventures they arrived and settled themselves down in the mountains at the back of Waimea.

Here Ika, the leader of the band, who took care to retain the personal control of the Kiha-pu, had the misfortune to provoke, by some unusual piece of tyranny, a quarrel with one of his comrades, and this latter, bent upon revenge, determined to repeat the theft, for his own personal ends, of the magic trumpet. Not willing to run the risk of being its possessor, however, he contented himself with robbing it of its miraculous powers. He found out that this could be effected by placing a cross mark upon its rim, accompanying the operation with incantations and prayers to Lono. So, while Ika lay, made drunk with _awa_, the Kiha-pu was stolen, marked with the tabu sign by the priest at Waiolani and returned again to its place. The next day Ika arose, hung the horn by its cord of human hair around his neck and sallied proudly forth, as he had been wont, to exhibit its wonderful powers, and extort the admiration of his followers. But, alas! when he raised the conch to his mouth and blew, even though he blew with the full force of his lungs, there came back nothing but a comparatively feeble, natural hollow sound.

Ika was sadly mortified at his humiliation in the sight of men, and still more so when, after further and fruitless experiments, he had to confess that the virtue of the ill-gotten trophy had departed.

He came to the conclusion that supernatural powers had been invoked against him, and in search of further light paid a visit to an aged seer at Waialua to enquire whether the voice of the Kiha-pu would be ever restored. To his great joy the answer was returned: “Yes, once more among the hills of Hawaii the Kiha-pu shall speak to the ears of gods and men.” More than this, the prophet, after the manner of oracles, refused to tell.

Thereupon Ika decided to return at once with his companions to Hawaii, and in a few days they had crossed the channels, beheld once more the snows of the very district from which they had so suddenly decamped eight years before.

Now it happened that on this very day King Kiha, who, to the amazement of his people, had been apparently spending eight years in the cultivation of a single palm, went out to his tree and was delighted to find that three cocoanuts had attained their maturity and were ready for his eating. In accordance with the ritual prescribed by the priests, these were now solemnly eaten, and at the very moment the feast was consummated came the news that the band of demoniac marauders had reoccupied the marshy wood behind the mountains of Waipio.

The tidings had scarcely reached the expectant chief when, lo! there was a tumult at the palace gate and, advancing a few steps, Kiha beheld the royal guard bringing into his presence the strangest looking old man he had ever seen. His hands were tied behind his back for more security, but at his heels followed an object still stranger to the eye. It was a dog, a big, ill-shapen beast of no earthly breed. It had blue bristles, its ears were human and the eyes were small and fiery, like those of a demon, one burning with a greenish light, and the other white.

The charge against the man was that of stealing _awa_, and it was represented that the dog, in this business, was his accomplice and a marvellously cunning brute. Across the mind of the king, however, there flashed the prediction of the oracle, which he had kept hoarded up in his mind. Surely, here, in this dog, was a being without hands and wearing neither _malo_ nor mantle. Was not this the instrument of the gods, sent to his aid?

Without a moment’s delay he had the two, the man and the dog, sent to the _heiau_ at Pakaalani, and thence he sent forth the dog to hunt through the mountains the wonder-working conch, and recover it from the hands of the thief.

There could be no doubt that the strange hound understood his mission, for he leaped through the open door, hurried to the mountains, and, after a long hunt, at length seized and bore away in his teeth the object of Kiha’s eight years’ quest. As, however, he was returning down the mountains, for one moment he dropped his spoil, and then there rang out upon the air a sound terrible to hear. For in the fall a tiny piece of the Kiha-pu, the very piece upon which was scratched the tabu cross of Lono, was broken off, and, liberated from silence, the old voice sounded forth as in the years gone by, startling the unaccustomed echoes of the mountains.

The robbers heard and, discovering their loss, started in pursuit. The king heard, too, and found it hard to possess his soul in patience till the dog’s return. Presently the door of the temple burst open and in rushed the green-eyed dog with the Kiha-pu in his mouth. The weird brute dropped it at the king’s feet, and then immediately fell dead. His companion, the _awa_-stealer, was inconsolable for his loss, but Kiha awarded to him a royally generous compensation, and then placing the horn to his lips blew such a blast as the mountains of Hawaii had not heard for many a year. The troops rushed together at the potent summons, and, led at once into the mountains, fell upon the demon band.

In a few hours the whole gang was exterminated, with the exception of Ika and two or three of his comrades, who were reserved for the sacrifices at the _heiau_, to be offered on the rededication of the Kiha-pu.

After this, Kiha took more care of his famous trumpet and regarded it as one of the chief talismans by which the authority of the throne was supported, but the _awa_-stealer, though having no further need of recourse to his old trade, deemed his new fortune no true compensation for the loss of his old friend, the green-eyed dog.

III

THE SPLINTERED PADDLE

In the year 1784 there was raging on the island of Hawaii the conflict known as “_Kaua awa_,” or “the bitter war,” a name very accurately descriptive of its exasperating and unmerciful character. There were in those days two kinds of wars in Hawaii, viz., wars of courtesy, when the arrangements for the contest were made with the most punctilious regard for the etiquette of Hawaiian chivalry, when the object of the invasion was considerately notified, and the place of landing and of battle carefully chosen, and, in the second place, wars of devastation, when everything was done to harass a foeman without respect to his feelings.

The “bitter war,” however, outran even this latter in the envenomed nature of the hostility aroused between the contending chiefs. These were, on the one side, Keoua and Keawemauhili, high chiefs who had lately shared the defeat of the ill-fated Kiwaloa in the battle of Mokuohai, and, on the other side, Kamehameha, whose future destiny had already been revealed to men like Keeaumoku, “the king-maker” of Hawaii.

These three waged a kind of triangular contest for the sovereignty of the island and brought to the struggle animosities which had been intensified by the events following the death of Kalaniopuu and his son.

For the moment, however, there was a lull in the campaign. Kamehameha had retired foiled, with his fleet, upon Laupahoehoe. Keawemauhili had just lost the help of the mercenaries from Maui, and Keoua was busy collecting his forces. In fact some parts of the country were enjoying the unwonted feeling of peace, and remained undisturbed by the arrival of the fleet-footed _lunapais_ to gather together the tribesmen for the war.

Such was the case along the Puna coast, near the extreme southeastern point of the island, not far from the ever-burning abode of Pele in Kilauea. A traveler, dropping down near the village of Kapoho one morning in the early summer, would have thought the scene an ideal picture of peace. The purple mountains in the background seemed still asleep under the morning shadows which hung among the groves of _kukui_ and _kou_; the surf on the white reef was lazily playing with the branching coral; and the blue-green water of the Pacific slumbered under the long, level rays of the awaking sun. Yet, early as it was, a hundred dusky fisher folk of the Puna coast were plying their business, not with the fierce energy of western workers who rise early to wage war with the hours, but with the happy languor of those who have no quarrel with Time, and know that the whole day is before them, one long free leisure, in which they can lazily catch and prepare and enjoy the bounty of the sea.

They have taken out in the canoes an immense rope of banana leaves, fully half a mile in length, and are spreading it in a circle upon the shining waters. When spread out it is a veritable magic ring. Glancing down into the waters beneath, you may perceive hundreds of strange creatures of the deep, blue, green, scarlet and yellow, with queer beaks and fins, darting hither and thither, but never daring--poor, silly fishes, like some inhabitants of the upper air--to cross the black shadow which hangs so threateningly over them. And, after a while, the fishermen enter with the canoes and, poising their spears, strike where and when they choose, till the boats begin to sink deeper in the sea with the weight of their finny spoil.

Such was the aspect of things on the Puna coast a moment before it was suddenly changed by a very unwelcome apparition. Sweeping around the headland of Kumukahi, there bore down upon the peaceful fishermen, from the direction of Laupahoehoe, the war canoe of a chief, one inspired, doubtless, with no amicable intentions. It was painted red from stem to stern and bore a pennon at the masthead. The sturdy rowers wore short cloaks of yellow feathers which gleamed in the sunlight. Now, a visit of a chief was at no time a very welcome event to the fishermen, as it meant the confiscation of their spoil to supply the necessity of a by no means scanty following. Sometimes they felt inclined to follow the example of the men of Kau and respond to the demands of the chief for fish by hurling enough into the canoes to sink them and their occupants to the bottom of the sea. In this case, however, there was evidently more to be feared than confiscation. And as, when some hungry shark enters the lagoon where all the children are bathing and surf-swimming, there rises the dread cry of “_Mao!_” and instantly there follows a “_pilipili_” scramble to the shore, so when this great red and yellow monster of the deep, with its swift paddles and its human voices, swept over the waves, there was such a movement shoreward as showed that the indolent Hawaiian could be agile enough when he chose.

But the pursuit did not end with the shore. Leaping from the war canoe, the attendants of the ravaging _alii_ hurled their spears with effect. Some of the fishermen resisted and more than one with his paddle made things lively for his assailant. Presently, however, in the manner of Hawaiian warfare, the combat resolved itself into a duel. The combatants on either side grounded their spears and paddles to watch a single combat which promised to decide the fortunes of the day. The champion of the fishermen was Napopo, who, with a child slung upon his back, seemed unequally matched with his opponent, a chief of tremendous size and unspeakable ferocity of countenance. Once seen, this chief was not to be forgotten, and, as he rushed towards the unlucky fisherman in his path, he appeared to both sides alike irresistible. But Napopo was no coward, and he knew the ground better than his foe. Craftily he drew his antagonist over the coral beach and watched with lightning eye the moment when the spear should rush forth upon the air. Thus it happened that in launching his spear the chief tripped in a crevice of the rocks and fell face downward, while the missile whizzed harmlessly through the air. Then, leaping forward, Napopo used his paddle to such effect that he had surely left the chief dead upon the ground had not his followers rushed forward to the assistance of their lord. Encumbered with the child and fearing to risk its life by continuing as the aggressor, Napopo allowed the retainers to take away the battered and crestfallen raider. With his child and his splintered paddle he retired to his house a little distance from the shore, and was in time when he reached it to see the gaily painted canoe put back around the headland, the rowers somewhat sobered, doubtless, by their adventure and without a single fish.

* * * * *

Years have passed away and the wars of Hawaii are well nigh over. Kamehameha has won the reward of his patience and of his many defeats, and is now overlord of all the Eight Islands.

He has been making his triumphal progress round the coast of Hawaii, consecrating new _heiaus_, superintending the construction of fish ponds and collecting his tributes in labor, sandalwood, yellow feathers and fish. He has come, in due course, to Kapoho, and many are assembled at the royal enclosure to meet him and present their _hookana_. Among these comes Napopo with an enormous calabash of fish. He has no reason to fear, but as he approaches the _lanai_ and sees the concourse of runners, heralds, soldiers, and executioners, priests and hula-dancers, it seems impossible for him to raise his eyes. What is there in the eyes which face him which seems to freeze his blood? Glaring at him with the recognition of an ancient enemy are the eyes of the man whom he had once encountered on the coral beach and whose head he had broken with his paddle. The recognition is, at any rate, mutual. Kamehameha, the quondam raider, and Napopo, the bold fisherman of Puna, have met face to face. It is in vain to attempt escape. Napopo feels that, even did not the soldiers crowd the entrance, there was no strength in his limbs to move. He can only await death with what composure he may. Kamanawa and Kalaimoku, and the two white chiefs, Young and Davis, glance at the king for orders, conscious of his emotion, though ignorant of its cause. But the king waved them aside and, rising amid the assembly, spoke in tones which reached the outer fringe of the spectators.

“Chiefs and people of Hawaii, and ye men of Puna in particular, I thank you for your welcome and your gifts to-day. Not for the first time, however, have I come among you, and I venture to confess that when I came before, you treated me even better than you have to-day. For you gave me wisdom, which is better for kings than valor. I came among you in the bitterness of my heart, thinking to revenge the rebellion of Keawemauhili upon his subjects. I swooped down upon you as the shark upon the flying fishes, and had well nigh plundered you of your fish and burned your houses and slain your men. But this man here before me came against me, not with battle-axe or javelin, but with his fisher’s paddle, and therewith stayed the course of the blood-drinking spear and well nigh ended the battles of Kamehameha. Surely even then were the gods my friends, or I had gone down shamed into the halls of the dead. And now what shall be done with the fellow who lifted up his hand against me?”

The chiefs looked upon one another, and no one ventured to speak. They knew the grim, sardonic humor of the man and, in spite of his words, would not have been surprised at some fearful sentence. As for Napopo, the bitterness of death was almost past. Hope had not yet begun to torture him.

Then amid the silence of the multitude the king spoke again, almost a smile in his furrowed face.